


Until it All Falls Down

by Callisto



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Genderswap, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Jess burned, Dad died, Mom never really was, and Samuel never mattered. She figures if surviving all that doesn’t entitle Sam and her to each other for ever and ever, then Castiel in his heaven can sit on her middle finger and rotate.</i></p><p><i>She once said that aloud, expecting a little shock and derision from the brother who’d prayed every day once upon a time. But all he said was ‘amen’ before he crowded her against a wall and kissed her.</i></p><p>(Pre-series to season 6)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until it All Falls Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> HUGE hugs and thanks to my two betas opn this, Ancasta and De_nugis, who baby stepped me beautifully through my first het genderswap emo/smut fest.
> 
> And thanks to the talented artsist august_monsoon for the beautiful story header.
> 
> Word to the wise, the age gap is squished closer to 3 years between them, and Sam is underage for some of this story.

[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/callistosh65/pic/00094qdz/)

_But I just want to be happy again  
Until it all falls down  
\- For My Brother, by Blue October-_

She’s had Sam in the palm of her hand and chasing the crack of her ass since she turned a not very sweet sixteen.

A slow-bleeding slice from a witch’s claw will put a dent in any girl’s junior prom, but she doesn’t really mind. Never wanted to go in the first place, truth be told. She’s fucked and blown every guy worth a damn in that stinking high school, and doesn’t want to watch them ignore her while they clutch at girls they’d rather be seen with. So yeah, she’s sore, but she’s also got a newly opened bottle of Jack on the countertop and she’s got Sam fussing around with the kit as he lays everything out just so under the harsh fluorescent in the bathroom. She’s sitting on the closed lid of the toilet waiting for His Prissiness to declare it all ready. They’ve dragged in a chair for the real thing, because it’s a big bathroom and Sammy says the toilet lid is too low and far from the light for him to see properly, and heaven forbid he not approach this with his usual need to stamp order in the chaos. As she watches, Sam passes a small pair of scissors back and forth slowly through a Zippo flame three times.

“Come _on_. Get this show on the fucking road already.”

“Shut up, Deanna. You don’t want an infection, do you?”

Sammy and his germs. Just the latest thing he likes to get huffy about. Deanna thinks about fake sneezing over the whole shebang, but she really would like to get this done. The sun has set, the cicadas have started up out back, so it would be kinda cool to sack out and enjoy the buzz of the Jack as something more than a painkiller.

“Ready?”

She smiles, reaches out to tug his bangs when she moves over to straddle the low-backed chair. “Absolutely, kiddo.”

Maybe it’s the endorphins, maybe it’s the quiet, but it’s weird how happy she is to be here like this. Dad is off somewhere getting firepower (she’s trying not to hope too hard for a new sawed-off), which leaves almost-thirteen Sammy the fastest stitch in the west.

Almost-thirteen Sammy blows the bangs out of his face and rolls his eyes. “Every single time you say the same thing. I can’t believe how lame you are. Now hold still.”

So Deanna does, breathing as evenly as she can, taking mouthfuls of whiskey whenever the _prick-prick-pull_ of the needle builds a little too intensely. She can feel Sam behind her, breathing warm, damp and unsteady between her shoulders. She closes her eyes, focuses on that rather than on the beat of her heart and the pull on her skin. So gentle, her Sammy...

“What?”

She opens her eyes, licks her lips. Fuck, did she say that out loud? She takes a deep breath.

“Deanna!”

“What?”

“You have to hold still. You’re swaying.”

“’Kay.”

A few more minutes pass. Sam’s fingers press into her skin, holding her in place, maybe. She grunts, thinks about shrugging them off, but they’re actually the coolest thing on her body right now and she wishes Sam would walk them across her shoulderblades...

“Deanna...”

“What? I am holding fucking still! You hold still when someone’s sticking a red hot needle through your skin.”

So Sam does just that. He holds completely and utterly still.

Deanna blinks. All this Jack was not maybe not the best idea on an empty stomach, but she’d know if something was really wrong.

Right?

“Sammy?” She half turns. The kid is beet red. “Are you... Is something wrong?”

“No! It’s... Um. I can’t get the last part. You have to...”

Sam moves to stand where she can see him without twisting. He’s waving his his hand in the air between them and looking helpless.

She tries to sit straighter, but that pulls like a son of a bitch.

“Kid, I swear...” She hisses in a breath, follows the direction of the vague hand flap Sam is still making, and finally sees the problem. True, the slice is on her back, but the end of it snakes around her left side and up under her bra strap.

She shakes her head and reaches out with her right hand to tug on Sam’s hair again. Hard.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself.” She sighs and stands, reaching behind herself stiffly to look in the large mirror and get to the clasp. “It’s you and me, bro. What the hell are you getting—ow, fuck!”

“God, Deanna. Wait, okay? I’ll do it. Just...”

He’s as quick as ever, and Deanna is tempted to make a joke about fairy fingers, but the only thing she manages is a groan at the relief of having her tits free of that damn thing. She’s only just realized how much of the pull was coming from dried blood sticking her skin to the strap.

She doesn’t think, just closes her eyes and cups her breasts in her hands as she leans back on the counter. “God, that feels good. You have no idea how much it sucks sometimes to have to—

She hears a choked noise in time to open her eyes and see where Sam’s eyes are. On the nipple she’s accidentally trapped between the fingers of her right hand.

She swallows, drops her hands, and fuck she shouldn’t have done that. She shivers, head to clit to toes and her nipples tighten under the weight of Sam’s gaze. Which doesn’t so much as flicker.

“Sam...” Her hands reach for him on a bone-deep instinct, but for once it’s the wrong move.

“No!” He twists away and her heart wrenches to hear the tears in his voice. Sure enough, when his gaze snaps up, two spots of high color stain his cheeks and his eyes are shining. “Why d’you have to be so careless all the time, Deanna?” He steps in. “Why can’t you just go to your prom like everyone else? Go get drunk and...and dance, or something. But not you, right? No, you...” He takes a deep breath and steps away, throat working like crazy, “...you go after a witch all by yourself.”

“Sam, don’t.” She doesn’t know what to do, she really doesn’t. She wants to put her arms around him so badly, but she’s still naked from the waist up and Sam...fuck, Sam is _hard_. She can smell him as well as see him, bulging out of his jeans in that urgent way adolescent boys have about everything.

Any other time and she would enjoy this, mock the shit out of him and offer up lewd tips until his ears turned pink. Hell, last winter, she walked in on him _measuring_ himself and tortured him for months.

“Don’t. Don’t touch me.”

His head is down and his voice is small, embarrassed. She hates it.

“I..I won’t. Look at me, Sammy.”

He does. “What?” Such a belligerent, shaky set to his shoulders. He plants his feet firm, almost daring her to comment on the erection straining the fly of his jeans.

She can’t go there; nothing mocking, nothing real. She makes her eyes look away. “Nothin’. Let’s...let’s get this done.”

 

She sits back down in the chair and lets Sam get to work again. It’s the most tense, erotic silence she’s ever known. Every stuttered breath of Sam’s across her skin sends yet another shiver of gooseflesh all the way down to her pussy. When he’s done, there’s a sniff, and a brush of fingers across her breast which she knows she doesn’t imagine. Then the door slams and he’s gone.

Seconds later she’s open-legged across the edge of the chair, jeans pushed down far enough to get three fingers deep inside. She pumps and twists, the metal of her ring catching her clit just so, and comes so hard her teeth cut her bottom lip.

In a daze, she takes down a few more long swallows of whiskey before she straightens up, gets dressed, and leaves the bathroom. An hour later when the bottle is empty, the cicadas are fucking loud and the porch swing hurts, she finally creaks open the door to their shared room.

“Sam?” she whispers, willing him to be asleep and not answer. He is and doesn’t. The smell of spunk in the hot dark room hits her instantly. It’s not the first time, but it’s never sped up her heart like this, never felt so monstrous before.

Monstrous and so fucking _strong_.

 

And so it begins. She spends nearly a year running into the arms of anyone who even smiles her way when Sam is around. Sam gets into bed with her twice, neither time for a nightmare. She panics and kicks him to the floor the second his dick rubs against her ass, his sullen expression of hurt the next day like a knife. She gets drunk two days later and makes out with Sam’s fifteen-year-old study buddy right there on the sofa where Sam can see her. She lets him feel her up while she locks eyes with her brother over the back of the sofa. Sam nods at her, jaw locked as he slowly backs out of the room. Her panties are wet, and she knows it has absolutely nothing to do with Billy or Bobby, or whoever the fuck it is fumbling around under her shirt.

It ends right before her seventeenth birthday. She’s tired and sore after digging through rocks all weekend to get to the grave of a drowned wife. She’s also ridiculously teary as she lies in bed and hears Sam laugh with the girl next door he’s been having a thing with all summer. Sam has spent the last six months filling out and growing up, and suddenly he’s taller than her, twice as mouthy, and he has freaking _girls_ chasing after him. She hears him laugh again and blinks furiously in the dark. It’s her fucking period, she knows that. She always cries at stupid crap right before. But she also knows that it’s this thing she’s been doing to Sam these long months. Pushing him away and being a shit every chance she gets. It’s like a fist in her heart how well it’s worked.

She misses him so goddamn much.

That night the hot length of his dick against her back wakes her up.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. Deanna, it’s okay.” He’s breathing into her hair, nudging it aside to get to the back of her neck with kisses. She shivers awake on the sweetest crest of comfort and care she’s ever known, all urges to retreat, panic, and kick him away failing fast at such a perfectly timed onslaught.

Fuck, but he always did know how and when to slip under her defenses.

“Sam...” She has no idea what the broken sound coming out of her mouth means. All she knows is that right now she really, really needs him to stay. She reaches back with her left hand, lays it on the back of Sam’s thigh.

Sam makes a noise, somewhere between a groan and a whimper. He presses in closer, his arms banding around her, one arm strong over her breasts. His dick slides against her skin and Christ, she’s wet already.

“Sammy...” she breathes it out, closing her eyes and rubbing back into him. Sam keeps kissing her, soft and sloppy across her shoulders where he’s pulling her stretched t-shirt down.

“Ssh... I got you. I promise.”

God, he’s not even fifteen – how can he sound so fucking sure of himself? Of her?

Sam is in boxers, she’s in panties and a tee. Her mouth is dry with how much she wants to turn around and kiss all that skin, but she can’t. Sam is just going to have to understand that.

His fingers slide into her panties and she gasps.

“Deanna?”

She swallows. This is it. He stills behind her, and she knows everything is up to her at this point.

Sam moves his hand down, just keeps it there.

She hisses in a sharp breath, pulse thundering in her ears.

Maybe not everything.

“Deanna? I want... God, please let me.”

She can’t speak, but she can nod. Nod for all she’s worth as Sam squeezes her left breast through her tee and tentatively moves his fingers against her. She has no idea if Sam has done this before, but expertise and rhythm don’t matter a damn right now. This is the one person in her life who has never let her down, never let her go. Not since a terrified four year old buried her face in the tiny person in her arms who didn’t smell of smoke.

So yeah, it’s comfort to the core, but it’s also hot as hell.

“Shut up,” she mumbles, even though Sam hasn’t said anything. “Just...” she lifts her left leg a little, turns her hips back onto his and pushes his hand further into the slick heat pouring out of her.

Sam doesn’t need showing twice. “Deanna...” He slides one finger in immediately. She groans, lets her legs fall wider as his thumb knuckle inexpertly hunts out her clit.

“Another...another finger,” is all she can manage. She rolls her hips back, loving the slide of him behind her. He does what she asks and like the inventive freak he is, he also thinks to pinch her nipple tight and bite down, open, sweet and stinging on the back of her neck.

 _holyfuckingchrist_

It doesn’t take long. They come within seconds of each other, Sam in the crack of her ass, she on three of his fingers.

As she shivers and spasms her way back from too much sensitivity, she keeps her hand tightly on the forearm still around her. Sam keeps his mouth open and soft on her shoulder, all the while murmuring the sweetest nonsense about how beautiful she is. God. She knows she should feel a million different terrible things rushing in right now, but in truth all she feels, is _adored_.

Sam pulls away slowly, like he has some spidey sense telling him she can’t take charge of this right now. He pads out to the bathroom and a few minutes later she tenses when she hears the light click off. But he climbs into his own bed and turns on his left side so he can face her. The hallway light is on and he left their door ajar, so enough light spills in for her to see him slide the flat of his hand under his cheek. He smiles, dimpled and Sam-like, and her heart skips at how impossibly young and content he looks.

Sticky, cooling come slides down her legs and she knows she should get up and clean herself off. It seems the very least she can do if she’s not going to have the decency to freak out properly. But all she wants to do is lie on her side and look at him a while. She clears her throat and finally finds some backbone, even if it does come out as a whisper. “Why now, Sammy? How...how the fuck did you even know?” _-that I was lying here aching for you?_

A small line pulls his eyebrows in. “I didn’t... I mean, I didn’t know anything, Deanna. God, you were crying in your sleep, having a nightmare or something. I just.. I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to make it stop, is all.”

Is all, says he.

It’s only then she realizes her face is wet.

 

Fast forward through the less than heavenly host of Yellow Eyes, Lucifer, Ruby, Lilith, Death, Eve, Castiel and Crowley, and Deanna long ago gave up justifying who she’ll love to anyone or anything. She loved and hated Jess in equal amounts as soon as she met her; relief and jealousy warring instantly. Even that was not to be, because as the fight around them grew, the world between them narrowed. Jess burned, Dad died, Mom never really was, and Samuel never mattered. She figures if surviving all that doesn’t entitle Sam and her to each other for ever and ever, then Castiel in his heaven can sit on her middle finger and rotate.

She once said that aloud, expecting a little shock and derision from the brother who’d prayed every day once upon a time. But all he said was ‘amen’ before he crowded her against a wall and kissed her.

 

“Come _on_ , Sam. Get this fucking show on the road already.”

She loves goading him, loves that pissy hitch to his shoulders, the dance his eyebrows do when she gets to him like this.

The hunt was old school – a quick and easy poltergeist in a seventh-generation farmhouse. Barely a toaster was thrown before they kicked holes and herbs into all the right places and were on a porch getting a teary-eyed hug and thankyoujesus, a homemade toffee cake. Deanna grinned, tossed Sam the keys, and ate four pieces off her fingers on the ride back to the motel. She moaned out her pleasure while Sam glared at her and shifted around in his seat.

She sent Sam off to park and bring back some cold sodas from the machine, because she’s the oldest and still gets to do that.

Besides, she wants to be ready when he walks in.

 

By the time Sam walks in the door, she’s got herself stripped down to nothing and is already up on the dresser that she reckons is just the right height for Sam on his knees. Her own knees are spread wide and her tailbone is right on the edge of the worn wood.

Sam lets both duffels fall to the floor in a noisy heap after she’s greeted him, his eyebrows dancing, his mouth slightly ajar.

God, she loves how she can undo him like this.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy...”

The bangs are gone, the shoulders are even wider, and over the years a quiet, solid heroism has taken root somewhere deep. But when she has him like this, all tongue-tied and dropping duffels, it’s her dork brother to the core.

She says it again, purring a little. “Huh, Sammy? What’re you doin’all the way over there? Don’t you wanna get this show on the road?”

Sam only trips once this time. And that’s because he’s hauling three layers of shirt over his head at breakneck speed.

“Careful, big guy. Wouldn’t want you to—

Sam’s mouth is on hers, swallowing her whole. His hands tilt her head up, up, up as he works her jaw wide and slides his tongue hotly around hers.

—break anything,” she finishes, a little dazed.

“You were saying?” He’s still got his hands on her face, stroking her cheekbones and standing back a step. He looks that combination of fond and turned on which always makes her head spin.

She clears her throat and wraps her arms around him, scratching up his back. “Nothin’.” He throws his head back, breathes in sharply when she bites the pink nub of his right nipple. She looks up as she traps it between her teeth, waiting for him to look before pulling it. “Need you to take the edge off.” She licks, then blows and soothes the angry red nub, watching his face as her words hit home. “On your knees and eat me out, Sammy. Now.”

And to think, she used to run from him. From this.

With a groan, he’s there, and damn, she was right. She is so at the right level for Sam on his knees. He spreads her wider with a hand on each hip as he moves in, his thumbs easing her slick folds apart. Then the fucker does nothing but breathe on her.

“Son of a... _bitch_.” She can’t believe how desperate she sounds.

“Ssh, shh. I got you. I got you.” And before she can get her hands down to pull him in, he’s there, licking up the center of her with the a slow, flat sweep of his tongue. She groans, lets him nudge her apart even wider.

No one in her life ever ate her out like Sammy does. With most guys it felt like they were doing her the favor, just getting her soft and sated so they could push in and get themselves off. But Sam, her Sammy, he does it like the favor is hers to grant and his life depends on proving himself worthy. Sometimes it blows her mind that this is all they do. Sam will lay her down and lap at her for what seems like hours, tongue dipping and caressing until she’s ready to give up the Impala and every gun she owns just to make the bastard get her there. Which he does when she’s begged enough, with a scrape of teeth just so and a twist of fingers deep inside her.

Not tonight, though. Tonight this is her show, and the toppy bastard – that phrase was _made_ for Sam – can just listen and do what she wants. And what she wants, is a fast and furious appetizer.

“Edge, fuckin’...edge off... ohmychrist... _Sam_...”

She hasn’t even got the sentence all the way out before he’s zeroing in on her clit, suckling hard and fast.

She curls down over him, relying on his strong hands to hold her in place as a wave of pleasure ripples through her body. And Sam doesn’t let go for a second until she puts her hand on his head. He looks up, chin glistening, and she wants him so fucking badly. He’s grinning, too. So damn smug.

“Edge enough for you?”

“Just about. Now get the fuck up here.”

They make out for long lazy minutes. He tongue-fucks her juices back into her mouth and plays with her nipples while she wraps her legs around his middle and keeps him there. Not that he would go anywhere, but still. She’s learned the hard way to hold on to her bliss where she finds it. Eventually, when her lips are numb, her nipples are on fire, and Sam is starting to gyrate into the furniture, she reaches down and palms the hot length of him through his jeans. Christ, the denim is soaked and he hasn’t said a word, or asked her for a thing.

“Dumbass.” She kisses him gently on his sweat slick neck while he groans against her. “How about we move this to the bed, Sammy? And I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling kinda nostalgic.”

She feels him smile against her skin, and then she’s barely got time to hang on before he’s got his hands under her ass and god damn him, picks her up.

“Nostalgic, huh?” he asks, once he’s dumped her flat on her back, the fucker. He’s grinning like a mad thing, shaggy hair flying in a dozen directions.

“Yeah,” she says, reaching for his fly again. She can’t be pissed, she just can’t. Being manhandled by six foot four of desperately-turned-on Sam is too hot for words.

She strokes him. Once, twice, and he groans above her, his head hanging low as he braces himself on locked arms. He bends to nose her amulet aside so he can suck her right nipple, and her mouth waters as she arches into the sensation. The temptation to push him on his back and get herself off with one hand while she sucks that shiny flush-red cock down her throat, has her clamping her thighs together to stop herself.

“Deanna...”

“Lie...lie down behind me, Sam. And get those goddamn jeans _off_.”

While he’s kicking off his jeans, she turns onto her right side to try and find the lube she knows she stashed under the pillow. Jeans gone, and Sam is on her like a panther, dipping down on all fours to lick swathes up the muscles of her back, her shoulders. Then he’s down biting her ass murmuring something and she needs to find the goddamn lube _now_...

“Hey, Deanna? This what you’re looking for?”

Son of a bitch.

Sam is on his knees, slowly jacking himself down at the foot of the bed and smiling at her, like they have all the fucking time in the world. Like he hasn’t been straining in his jeans since she licked the first piece of cake off her fingers.

She swallows hard as another pulse of _want_ throbs between her legs.“Christ, Sam. Need you to fuck me, open me up.”

She turns onto her right side, heart jack-rabitting in anticipation.

Sure enough he’s there soon enough, nosing her hair aside, his cock searing heat trails across her lower back.

“Ssh, I got you. I got you.”

She reaches back, guides two lube slick fingers to her ass. “Nuh-uh, baby bro. I got _you_.”

It hurts at first, it always does when she takes him up the ass. They don’t do it like this often – she likes to keep it special, for when she’s feeling pretty good or pretty bad. Either way, as soon as her eyes close and he’s peppering her neck with bites and kisses, she’s back in that room all those years ago, wrapped up in the fiercest love she’s ever known, and more turned on than she would have thought possible.

Two fingers in and she can’t wait. She turns back, kissing him messily when he tilts his head toward her. “Fill me up, Sammy. Gotta have you in me...”

He takes it slow, soothing her body with his hands as his cock head eases through the tight ring of muscle.

“So beautiful, Deanna. So fucking...beautiful.”

Once, twice... and suddenly he’s all the way home, so deep inside her it’s like he’s knocking on her heart. She grips his thigh, stilling them both while she takes a moment to adjust.

“Okay? Deanna, I gotta... God. Feels so fucking good.”

She nods and he starts to move. She may feel as if she’s going to split in two, but she also feels power like she never does, except when she has him like this.

His rhythm is a thing of wonder, but it’s not one hundred percent what he can give her and she doesn’t want him holding back a damn thing.

“Yeah.. fuck me, Sammy. Please. More, I need... fuck... _harder_. Come on... pretty....fuckin’ please, dude.”

He groans, sinks his teeth into her shoulder and impossibly, steps up the rhythm, hips slamming into hers.

 _Holyfuckinghellfire_

Her pussy clenches, wet and empty. She’s pretty sure he’s close so she wordlessly moves his left hand off her waist, guides it down.

Two fingers slide right in, and Sam chuckles, low and dirty in her ear. “Pretty fuckin’ please, huh?”

“With bells on,” she whispers back.

Doesn’t matter how hot and dirty it gets, or how many fingertip bruises she’s going to have tomorrow, this right here is care and comfort of the very best kind. Because now she’s not afraid to twist her head, not afraid to seek him out with panting, messy kisses. She’ll open her legs wide, let him fuck the tight channel of her ass, and she’s sure as shit not afraid to tell him what she wants.

“One...more...finger, Sam. C’mon. Nearly fucking—

 _there_

She whites out in an explosion of _Sam Sam Sam_ when that third finger crooks up inside her. He’s all around - inside, outside, squeezing her breast, pumping her ass, biting her neck. She clenches and clenches and clenches around those long talented fingers of his. Dimly she feels his rhythm stutter behind her. He stills, grows impossible larger, and then shoots her full of hot, wet slick while he swears and raggedly thrusts in again and again.

 

“We should...we gotta move, Sammy.”

A few blissed-out minutes have passed and she’s got come cooling and sticking everywhere. Plus, there’s no way she’s sleeping in this bed.

Sam is still sprawled out behind her. “’na minute, Deanna.” He throws an arm over her hips, breathing heavily into her hair.

She sucks two of his fingers into her mouth, getting a weird thrill out of the thick musk she can taste on them. Christ, they’re _wrinkled_ they were inside her so long.

Sam exhales shakily into her neck. “Jesus, don’t do that.”

“Heh. Too much? And here I thought I had myself a stud.”

He kisses her temple, squeezes her close. “You do. Just... I need a shower. And cake, Deanna. I can’t believe you ate four pieces already. You should go get me some cake.”

“Sammy?”

He mutters something curse-like at her, and oh yeah, she’s not letting this go just yet.

She twists in his embrace and kisses his nose. He blinks his eyes open pretty fast at that, all wary and adorable.

“Um, yeah?”

“Go get the cake, bitch.”

“What? No!” He thumps his head back on the pillow, afterglow apparently forgotten. “What the hell did your last slave die of, Deanna? Man, I just gave you the orgasm of your fuckin’ life. The least you can do is go and get—

“And I will wake you up with the best blowjob _ever_ tomorrow morning.”

Sam only trips once on his way to the duffels.

****


End file.
